Downtime
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: "Tell me this isn't a cliché scenario! We're trapped down here alone in enemy territory with no hope of rescue. And I'm mortally wounded." "You twisted your ankle, York."


"No, but seriously," York said. "Tell me this isn't a cliché scenario. After a dangerous mission in enemy territory-"

"It was simple recon," Carolina said. "A milk run to an abandoned data cache. There's nobody here."

"After a _dangerous mission_," he continued, undeterred, "we're trapped down here, alone, with no hope of rescue."

Carolina made a show of checking her chrono. "Twenty minutes until scheduled extraction."

"_No hope of rescue_," York added, much louder. "And I'm mortally wounded."

"You twisted your ankle, York."

York was blessedly quiet for a moment, then added, "Well, it hurt. I'm just saying, this is a dire situation. Downright tragic. Total cliché."

Carolina finished setting her trackers, just in case, then stalked away to go loom over York. It wasn't especially hard to loom over him, since he was currently flopped on the ground. She took some gratification in the fact that he looked uncomfortable-their armor wasn't exactly made for casual lounging.

"C'mon," York said. "You can't say this doesn't put you in, like, a certain mood."

"Boredom?" she said, but he'd tilted his head to the side and was just staring at her. She fought down a smile. "York, you're wearing your helmet. I can't see you doing the sexy-face."

"Hah," he said. "If you couldn't see it, how did you know it was the sexy-face?" He pushed himself up to a sitting position, then shuffled to put his back against a tree. "Busted."

"Yeah," she said, and plunked down next to him after one more quick scan of her HUD. "You're really not as good at this as you think you are."

She could practically hear him blinking innocently behind his helmet."Good at what?"

She shoved him lightly in the shoulder. "This. Whatever it is you think you're trying to do."

He laughed, swaying exaggeratedly with the hit. "Mm," he said. "We'll see."

She stretched her legs out in front of her, then exhaled a long, slow breath. It was strange to have downtime-any downtime-these days, and she was finding it difficult to slow her speeding thoughts enough to step back, to take stock. To figure out what to say next. It seemed like she and York were always on separate missions, lately. Or in separate training sessions. "Hey," she said, "How's the eye?"

She immediately regretted bringing it up when she felt him tense next to her. "Fine," he said, his voice deceptively light. "How're the busted ribs?"

She shrugged, matching him tone for tone, feeling a weight drop at the pit of her stomach just thinking about the freeway, about Tex, about Maine. About everything. "Fine."

They were quiet a while longer, and then he gave a sharp little laugh that didn't sound anything like him. "Man," he said. "We're pretty fucked up these days, aren't we?"

She pretended to think it over. "Yep," she said. "Pretty fucked up. Sounds about right." But he didn't laugh, and when she glanced over he was staring into the sky with a strange intensity. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Hey. Doesn't mean we're always going to be this way."

He glanced over at her. "Is this you trying to cheer me up? Because, to be honest, it's a little weird."

"Don't get used to it," she said, and draped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in. "C'mere."

He shifted until the contours of his helmet finally rested comfortably against her shoulder, then heaved a sigh. She could feel him relaxing against her, felt herself relaxing in turn, resting the side of her helmet's faceplate against the top of his head. The sun was low in the sky, here, sinking toward evening, but it looked like it was going to be a clear night. Clear and bright.

"Hey," York said, his voice pitched low. "What's the time to extraction again?"

She schooled her tone to bored neutrality. "Ten minutes, now."

"Mm," he said. "I mean, you know. Ten minutes is probably enough time to, uh. You know."

Bored neutrality disappeared in the face of a perfect straight-line. She grinned. "Oh, I don't doubt it."

He snorted a laugh. "Ouch. But surely what I lack in endurance I more than make up for in enthusiasm?" He shifted, awkwardly, to look up at her.

"Yeah, I still can't see the sexy-face, York."

"But you're smiling."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm smiling."

"Hey," he said, "that's the deal, right? You cheer me up when I get weird existential angst, and in return, I sometimes manage to sorta make you smile."

"'Sometimes manage to sorta'?"

He shrugged. "Nothing's a sure thing."

"Good point." She rapped her knuckles against his shoulder, pointed to a pinprick of light growing in the sky. "Looks like Four-Seven's a little early. Could've caught us in a compromising position."

"Ah yes," York said, deadpan. "What a shame that would have been."

Carolina disentangled herself from him, then helped drag him to his feet; he really was limping a little. "Hey, one more thing to cheer you up, clear away the last dregs of that weird existential angst. I've got your orders for the evening."

He gave an explosive sigh, started pacing unevenly toward the landing zone. "Man, he's been running us ragged, lately. I thought I had the night off."

"You do," Carolina said. "So do I, as it happens. Your orders are to report to me immediately after your debriefing."

He stopped, staring at her. "Oh," he said. "_Oh._" After a moment, he added, "For... another kind of debriefing?"

She groaned. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Hey, it's been a cliché kinda day. And, I mean, if you really wanted, I guess I could show up in full armor instead. That'd be a little weird." He paused. "Kinky?"

She winced. "Think of the chafing."

"Mm," he said, dreamily. "Chafing."

She elbowed him for that one. "You're lucky you're cute," she said. "And, ah. Enthusiastic."

He turned to look at her, and she could hear the grin in his voice, like sun breaking through stormclouds. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm real lucky."


End file.
